


step three: i'm calling you baby

by polly_perks



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Episodes 1-5, First Kiss, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polly_perks/pseuds/polly_perks
Summary: Yuuri was quieter, sure, and there seemed to be an impenetrable haze of embarrassment that surrounded him sober. But he was undeniably the same man from last year's Grand Prix.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from "step with me" by MIKA

As soon as Viktor left the airport, he realized that he probably should have learned a little more Japanese before coming to Japan.

He had visited before, of course, but even when he’d left the safety of the English-speaking ice rink he was at he was always in popular tourist areas, where the locals’ basic English and his elementary Japanese were enough to get by. Now he struggled even in telling the cab driver where to go, especially since he didn’t know where Yuuri Katsuki lived aside from “Hastetsu.” 

The cab driver spoke quickly, and all he could make out was “Hastetsu” and “big.” 

He put a hand to his ear and said, “I’m sorry?” but all he could make out the second time was “city.” The cab driver watched him tap his lip in the rearview mirror. 

“Is there a skating rink in Hastetsu?” he asked, remembering that the words were similar enough across languages that the cab driver might pick up on it.

And pick up on it he did; he nodded a few times and pulled away from the airport. 

Once they arrived at the rink, Makkachin bounded out of the cab and hurtled up the stairs. Viktor was almost certain she could smell the ice; she’d always try to follow him onto the rink when he brought her along back in St. Petersburg. He paid the cab driver, hoped that his pronunciation of “thank you” wasn’t too terrible to understand, and followed his dog. 

He pushed open the door and called “hello?” into the atrium. He didn’t hear anyone but the door was open so he went inside anyways. 

“Hello?” he called again in Japanese. 

He heard a woman’s voice, again speaking Japanese, from somewhere behind the counter so he waited for her to appear.

“Hello,” he said again once she appeared, “I’m--”

“Oh my god!” she shrieked. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov!”

“I am indeed--” she practically vaulted over the counter to grab his hand and shake it viciously. She started speaking rapidly in Japanese and must have seen the vacant look on his face before switching to English. 

“It’s such an honor to meet you in person! I never thought I would. I mean, wow, I’ve looked up to you since I was a little girl, since I started skating, and now you’re here! What brings you to Hastetsu?”

“I’m actually looking for Yuuri Katsuki,” he said smoothly.

Somehow her face bloomed into an even wider grin. “Yuuri? You’re looking for  _ my _ Yuuri-kun?”  _ ‘My’?  _ He thought to himself.  _ Are they an item? _

“His family owns an onsen! I can write down the address for you. Or, better yet, I can take you! Well, I should technically be minding the rink seeing as my husband is in town for the day, but we barely have any customers! It would really be no trouble for me to close down for a couple of hours--”

“That sounds amazing!” Viktor said, much happier to spend time with her after the mention of her husband who did not seem to be Yuuri Katsuki. It would be much easier to find his way around with a local who spoke English.

“Perfect! Let me just close up and we’ll head out.” She dropped his hand and vaulted back over the counter.

He peered through the doorway to the rink, and was struck with the intense feeling that he’d seen it before. The woman who worked the desk hadn’t been wrong; there were only a few people making wobbly circles around the ice.

As he watched a young man toss his head to the music that must have been playing through his headphones, he realized where he’d seen the rink before.

This was where Yuuri Katsuki had skated his routine.

“Actually,” he called to the woman behind the counter, interrupting her search for her keys, “I can make my way there myself. I would hate to interrupt your business.”

“Oh! Of course. Let me just write it down for you.” She procured a pad of paper from under the counter and went through the door to get around the counter this time.

She tore off the top sheet and handed it to him. “So this is how you say it, and here it is below in Japanese just in case you need to show it to anyone.”

“Thank you very much,” he said in Japanese, and she gave him a thumbs up. 

He whistled for Makkachin, who had indeed bounded over to the rink and was pacing it in search for an entrance. As she trotted back over, the woman called for him again.

“Um, Vi--Mr. Nikiforov? Could I ask one more thing?”

“Of course you can!” Makkachin skidded to a halt next to him and panted expectantly.

She held up the pad of paper towards him. “Could I have your autograph?”

* * *

There was a sign next to the door of the onsen, but since Viktor’s understanding of written Japanese was worse than his spoken, he didn’t know if they were open or not. The woman at the rink had told him that Yuuri Katsuki lived here as well, so even if he wasn’t home someone else must be.

He knocked on the door.

Fighting the urge to put his ear to the wood, he heard muffled whispers from inside, then footsteps. Finally the door slid open and a short brown-haired woman greeted him cheerfully in Japanese.

“Hello,” he responded, “I’m Viktor Nikiforov.” 

“Oh!” she said. “A foreigner! Your Japanese isn’t bad. Please come in. Your dog can come too.” She ushered them in and he could tell that the wrinkles around her eyes were from smiling. “Are you here for the onsen?”

“I’m here for Yuuri Katsuki, actually. There’s something very important I’d like to discuss with him.” 

“Oh!” she said again, giggling this time. “He’s not here. But he will be back soon. Do you want a bath while you wait?”

Viktor could still feel the sweat on the back of his neck and the tension in the small of his back from the long flight. The prospect of a hot bath and the presence of this smiling woman loosened his shoulders and teased out a smile of his own. “Yes, please!”

He pulled off his shoes and stepped into the house. The woman was still in the entryway, rubbing Makkachin’s head. “Does your friend want a bath too?”

“I don’t think so, she couldn’t sit still after such a long flight. She needs to run around for a while.”

The woman laughed, still playing with Makkachin’s ears and blowing kisses at her. “Run around, yes. She can run around in the house, of course. What a good girl!” Makkachin yapped and followed the woman as she led Viktor to the hot springs.

“Makkachin likes you,” Viktor told the woman. And it wasn’t just flattery; the dog had followed her all the way to the locker rooms, where she was pointing out the men’s room to Viktor. She put her hands to her cheeks and smiled again.

“I’m so glad! We used to have one just like her. I’ll take care of her while you’re in the hot springs.”

He bowed and thanked her. The hot springs was perfect for after his flight, and he found himself dozing off. The woman had left a cold cloth for his head and he plopped it on his damp hair before he passed out completely. 

From the front of the house, he heard Makkachin barking. “She only does that when someone new shows up at home…” he muttered to himself. Then he gasped.

Yuuri was probably home.

Viktor rose from the hot springs and tried to make out what was being said. Of course he couldn’t, but he could hear thudding footsteps making their way rapidly closer to the hot springs.

He heard Yuuri before he saw him; the footsteps halted and the door to the hot springs slammed open. He heard quiet, rapid muttering in Japanese, unintelligible but sounding suspiciously like “ohmygodohmygodohmygod.”

Then the thick mist from the hot springs parted as the door slammed shut again, and Viktor turned around, and Yuuri was kneeling in front of him.

Over the spread of his own outstretched fingertips, Viktor could see the water from the air beginning to gather on the tips of Yuuri’s shiny black hair, on the soft rounded edge of Yuuri’s cheek, on the top of Yuuri’s slightly parted lips. His glasses were slightly fogged up from the heat of the water, but Viktor could still see the clear brown of his eyes behind them. 

This is what he had come to Hastetsu for.

“Yuuri, from now on I’m going to be your coach.”

* * *

Viktor hadn’t expected Yuuri to be so quiet.

The startled “what?!” that accompanied Viktor’s announcement was the loudest volume Yuuri seemed to be able to reach. He was quiet at dinner, exchanging subdued words in Japanese with his mother and sister and then translating the important bits for Viktor, and he was quiet the next morning even as Viktor laid out a hellish training program to get him back down to his Grand Prix Final weight.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, five kilometres twice a day? That can hardly be what you’re used to.”

“Um, no. I mean, it’s not what I’m used to. Last season the majority of my training was in ballet and on the ice. But if you think this is what’s best for me, of course I’ll do it.”

That had probably been the longest he’d spoken to Viktor in three days.

Yet he was definitely the same man from last year’s Grand Prix. Viktor saw the bright energy of his dance partner from that night more in Yuuri’s interactions with his family than with himself, when he would make some dry remark, face relaxed into a half-smile, and his father would chuckle and slap him on the back. Or when he went through his entire stretch routine with his back perfectly straight, his chest out and his arms reaching gracefully for his toes.

He was especially the same when he leaned back out of a delicate stretch and rested his weight on one arm, using the other to brush his hair back as he narrowed his eyes slightly at the place where the wall met the ceiling. In these moments Viktor would feel something bloom in his stomach, and he would stare at the elongated curve of Yuuri’s neck until Yuuri would ask, “Viktor, could you help me stretch my other side?”

The first time Viktor answered, “I got distracted thinking about you,” to which Yuuri slapped his hands over his face and wailed, “Don’t say things like that!”

It had made him nervous to ask Viktor for a stretch the next time, so from then on he nodded silently and placed his hands back on Yuuri’s shoulders.

* * *

A week after Viktor arrived, he was awoken by footsteps thumping past his door at 6am. He slid out of bed to inquire after the noise and was shocked to find Yuuri in the bathroom, frantically brushing his teeth.

“Yuuri?”

He spit quickly into the sink. “Ah! Viktor! I’m so sorry I’m late, I overslept!” 

“Overslept? For what?”

“For...training?” he saw realization dawn on Yuuri’s face. “Why aren’t you waiting outside?”

“Because we have Saturdays off! You need at least one day of rest, otherwise you can’t train your hardest the rest of the time! Did I forget to tell you?”

“N-no, I’m sure you did. I must have forgotten.” He hadn’t actually told Yuuri at all; he’d specifically avoided doing so to see how long it would take for him to demand a break. He knew the man had stamina, but this was of an entirely different sort.

“Oh well, no harm done. Back to bed with you!” He smacked Yuuri on the shoulder. Yuuri rinsed out his mouth and began shuffling back down the hall to his room.

“Actually, since you woke me…” Viktor began, certain that he’d mastered the playful, unaffected tone which made it clear to Yuuri that he was free to refuse, “...wouldn’t it only be fair for me to share your bed? As compensation, of course.” 

This wasn’t the first time he had asked to share Yuuri’s bed, but Viktor was sure it was the cleverest. After a few days it had become clear that Yuuri wasn’t going to mention the banquet out of what Viktor could only assume was the thick haze of embarrassment that seemed to constantly cloud him sober. He’d thus decided his best plan of action was to indicate his interest at all possible junctures to assure Yuuri that it  _ hadn’t _ just been the champagne talking that night, for either of them.

Yuuri, already mentally prepared to go back to sleep, turned and looked back down the hallway at Viktor. He waited, one hand resting on the back of his neck after having run it through his hair, eyes intent on Yuuri’s.

“I liked it better when you just asked,” he finally muttered, ears visibly pink in the light of the bathroom, and shut his bedroom door behind him.

* * *

He’d overheard Yuuri speaking to Yuuko once, while he was warming up for practice. They were speaking Japanese, but he could hear his own name scattered throughout the conversation and he knew they were talking about him.

Viktor had never considered the weight of his own name so much before coming to Hastetsu. Yuuri said it differently when he was speaking Japanese; it was softer, airier, than the dull club of a word it was when wielded by English-speaking announcers.  _ Vic-tor-u,  _ with the  _ v  _ slighty aspirated and the  _ o  _ tightened through round lips _.  _ Close enough to how it was pronounced in St. Petersburg that he would stand straighter and listen for the ensuing cry of “come here!” down a narrow hallway.

“Yuuri,” he said, trying to draw out the ‘u’ and soften the ‘r’ the way his mother and Yuuko did, and searched for a new tilt to his head or a tightness at the corners of his eyes. Yuuri gasped and straightened up, hands on his knees, and shouted “yes?”. A normal response; even his voice had the same timbre as it always did. But whether Viktor had failed at capturing a subtle difference or if there was simply no change for Yuuri to discern, Viktor could not tell.

“Were you and Yuuko-san talking about me?”

“Only a little bit!” His fingertips gripped his knees. “Mostly about how lucky I am that you’re coaching me. I still can’t believe it!” He stood and wobbled to the edge of the rink. “Thank you, Viktor.”

The club, again. Softened slightly by Yuuri’s accent, but still a dead weight dropped at the end of a sentence to remind him that he wasn’t at home.

“Well, take advantage of it, then! My coaching won’t be any good if you sit around gossiping like that. We’re practicing spins today!”

Yuuri’s name was more solid, Viktor decided as he watched him slide his glasses off and rest them on the bench. It couldn’t be reshaped by the whims of whoever’s language happened to surround him. Yuuri would always be Yuuri; in Detroit, in Sochi, in Hastetsu. Maybe even in St. Petersburg one day, Viktor thought.

* * *

Viktor’s phone rang in the middle of practice. Despite his fame (or, to some, notoriety), he rarely got phone calls, so he had left it by the rinkside with Yuuri’s glasses. He sped to the edge of the ice to catch the call before it dropped.

“Allo?” 

“Viktor!” It was Yakov. Despite his proficiency with technology, he’d never quite kicked the habit that all people in his generation seemed to have of yelling over the phone.

“Yes? It’s me--”

“I don’t have time for your jokes right now! Yuri just ran away, and although he didn’t say where he’s going, I’m sure he’s headed for where you are! Watch out for him, alright? If anything happens to him before he even gets his Grand Prix assignments--”

“Relax, Yakov, I won’t let anything happen to him. Yuri is a smart kid, he’ll be fine.”

“Sorry?” Yuuri had been hovering around where Viktor was standing, still on the ice, and skated over at the mention of what he must have thought was his name. It was probably the only thing he’d picked out among their Russian. Viktor waved a hand at him vaguely and kept talking.

“He only took a small suitcase, so if he’s staying for a while you’d better find him some good practice clothes. Don’t let him fall behind on his stretches, you know how he hates doing them--”

“Yakov, he’ll be  _ fine _ ! It’s not like he’s going to be stuck in the middle of the wilderness.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Yuuri was staring at him and moving his lips silently as Viktor spoke. He pretended not to notice; he was used to Yuuri staring at him, but it was nice to observe him back for once while he thought he was being subtle. He usually blushed and looked away.

Yakov was grumbling on the other end of the line. “Well, send him back fast if you can. Lord knows what the two of you could get up to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Viktor placed a hand to his chest even though Yakov couldn’t see it. Force of habit. “I’m wounded--”

“That’s all I wanted to say. We’ll see you at the Grand Prix, Vitya.” The phone beeped twice, then went silent.

“He hung up on me,” Viktor said partially to his blank phone screen and partially to Yuuri. He didn’t fight the smile that had swept across his face at the use of his old nickname; it was a warm spot of familiarity among his new home in Japan.

“Who did?” Yuuri asked. He’d abandoned all pretense of paying attention to anything except Viktor’s phone call and was leaning against the barrier.

Viktor turned to him. “Yakov. He called me to--” he stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if Yuuri and Yuri (and, wow, that was something that could hurtle them towards a misunderstanding fast) knew each other, but he was almost positive that the presence of another skater would cut into the delicate routine he’d established with Yuuri. Yuri’s arrival seemed inevitable at this point, but worrying Yuuri in advance wouldn’t be worth it. 

“He was just asking me if I would come back to skating with them. He said that this is my last chance to start before the season begins for real.” The lie came too easily; he’d been counting down the days until the Grand Prix assignments and knew that the door was nearly shut.

Yuuri was clutching the barrier with both hands, and his voice sounded shaky and soft when he asked, “Are you going to?”

Without his glasses, Yuuri was squinting slightly. His eyesight must have been really bad, Viktor thought, if he couldn’t see him clearly from this distance. Or maybe he was just trying to make sure he captured every crease in Viktor’s forehead, every twitch of his finger as he raised it to his mouth. His eyes even crossed slightly as they followed Viktor’s finger from his own lips to Yuuri’s, tapping them once.

“Of course I’m not. What kind of coach would I be if I did that?” He felt Yuuri move his mouth to speak and pressed on his lips to silence him.

Yuuri inhaled sharply through his nose and pulled back. “I’m glad,” he said, then straightened up as though remembering something and bowed. “I’m sorry to interrupt your skating season like this.”

Viktor hadn’t cried in years, but he felt the familiar tightness in his chest that usually preceded it. 

The ice was raised slightly above the floor around it, so Viktor was looking up into Yuuri’s face when he straightened up. His hands were still on the barrier. Viktor grabbed both of them and pulled him closer.

“Never apologize for that ever again.” Viktor said in his lowest, most serious voice. The lines around Yuuri’s eyes smoothed out as they widened in surprise and his fingers tightened around Viktor’s. “Never.”

Yuuri nodded once.

“You can, however, apologize for that abysmal step sequence. Preferably by getting it right. Back to practice with you!” He shoved Yuuri away by their linked hands and Yuuri actually drifted backwards in stunned silence for a few seconds before regaining control of himself and skating towards the center of the ice. Viktor had to cover his mouth with both hands to hide his laughter, even though Yuuri was no longer looking at him. He joined him on the ice a few moments later.

* * *

“We should take a selfie, Yuuri.”

“What? Why?” After the Hot Springs on Ice competition, Yuuri doubled down on both practice and training. They were at the rink, and he was practicing his Salchow even after Viktor had paused to take an Instagram break.

“Just for fun! I’ve been your coach for a few weeks and we haven’t gotten another picture together.” Viktor waved him over until Yuuri gave in and skated to the edge of the ice.

“Come sit. The lighting is better over here” He patted the bench next to him and Yuuri sat. Viktor threw an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and held his phone up. He heard the camera click a few times and pulled his phone back to his face, keeping his other arm around Yuuri.

“You look like I’m holding you at gunpoint or something. Is it that unpleasant?”

“No, not at all!” Viktor actually felt Yuuri relax, as though placating Viktor’s drama had become more of a habit to Yuuri than a genuine concern. “I’m just worried about what would happen if you post it. I haven’t really announced that you’re my coach yet.”

Was he really forgetting that Viktor was a 5 time gold medalist and probably had far more fans? “I’ve already announced it, so no worries! This won’t be revealing anything new.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said through his teeth. His face looked pale.  

“If you’re worried that fans will hold it against you, don’t.”

Yuuri pushed his glasses up his nose by the bridge, a habit that Viktor had only recently attributed to nerves. “You mean they’re okay with it?”

Viktor laughed a little bit. Yuuri was leaning more against him, had unclenched his fist and was allowing the backs of his fingers to splay out against Viktor’s thigh.

“Not at all. Many of them are furious. But what they think doesn’t matter, because I chose to be here.”

Yuuri didn’t seem convinced when he nodded, but in all the next photos they took together he was smiling confidently.

* * *

For once, Viktor decided to knock on Yuuri’s door Saturday morning before barging in. Even though it was their rest day, he still liked Yuuri to wake up early so he wouldn’t mess up his sleep schedule.

“Come in,” Yuuri said.

“Please tell me you didn’t stay up all night,” Viktor said upon seeing Yuuri sitting up in bed on his laptop. The Detroit Red Wings tee-shirt he had (hopefully) slept in was slightly too small, and it stretched pleasingly around his biceps and chest.    


Yuuri laughed and shut his computer. “No, I didn’t. I just happened to wake up early today. Do you want breakfast?”

“That’s fine, I can’t eat in the mornings.”

Yuuri slid out of bed anyways, seemingly ignorant of the fact that Viktor was trying to slide in with him. “Okay, I’ll just make something for myself, then. Tell me when you’re hungry.” With that, he made for the kitchen. Viktor had no choice but to follow.

Yuuri was rummaging around in the refrigerator when Viktor caught up with him. He knelt at the table to watch Yuuri cook. “I thought you weren’t hungry?” 

Viktor shrugged, unable to produce any answer other than “I didn’t want to lie around in your room alone while you were in here.” Although Viktor didn’t say anything, Yuuri nevertheless set a fried egg in front of him before digging into the scrambled eggs he’d made himself.  

Viktor hadn’t been lying about being unable to eat in the mornings; he picked at his egg slowly while Yuuri ate. “I didn’t take you for a hockey fan,” he said to fill the silence. Yuuri looked at him questioningly so Viktor gestured at his shirt.

“Oh, right. You know I went to college in Detroit. My, uh, roommate took me to a game once. It was pretty fun, actually, but of course we preferred figure skating.”

“Of course,” Viktor said. He noted the stutter before ‘roommate’ and the ‘we’ in front of figure skating. There was a story there that Viktor resolved to learn someday.

“What do you want to do today?” Yuuri asked once he’d finished. He tried to take Viktor’s plate to the sink, but Viktor refused and took it himself. He’d had people take care of him like this before, but he somehow hated the thought of Yuuri serving him as though Viktor were anything special. 

“Why don’t we watch a movie? I want to know what kind of movies you like, Yuuri.” They’d finished the dishes, a little awkwardly given that the both of them were trying to use the sink at the same time, and were just standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the kitchen counter. Yuuri seemed no more eager to move than Viktor did.

“A movie sounds nice,” Yuuri said. “But…”

“But what?” Viktor drummed his fingers on the counter once.

“But...I want to watch a movie that you like. We’ve talked a lot about me recently. And I chose the movie we watched a few weeks ago, remember?” Why did Yuuri have such a detailed memory for everything except what counted?

Viktor felt his face warm and he  _ knew _ his cheeks were getting red. “That sounds perfect! I know a movie that you’ll love, if I can only find it online.”

He hurried them back to Yuuri’s room and started searching on Yuuri’s laptop.

“It’s very funny, I think you’ll really enjoy it. I watched this movie a lot when I was growing up.”

“Um, Viktor?” Yuuri asked as the movie started playing. “You know I don’t understand Russian, right?”

“Of course I do, don’t worry. It has subtitles in English, see?” He stretched out his legs and perched the computer on top of them. Yuuri moved back to lean against the headboard. He crossed his legs and one knee ended up resting on top of Viktor’s thigh, and if he noticed, he didn’t move away.

Throughout the movie, Viktor glanced nervously at Yuuri to see how he was reacting. He was certainly laughing at all the funny parts (except, for some reason, the drinking scene, which had always been Viktor’s favorite) and would only glance at his phone whenever the screen lit up. 

Seeing as how the last 20 minutes were the best, Viktor forgot to check on Yuuri for them. At the movie’s end he was surprised to find Yuuri scrubbing at his nose and staring resolutely at his phone screen.

“I thought you said it was a funny movie,” he said, very softly. His voice was somewhat higher than usual, too. Viktor felt his stomach swoop in disappointment.

“You didn’t like it?”

Yuuri inhaled deeply once and yanked his glasses off, shutting his phone off only to stare at his empty hands instead. “No, no, I liked it. I just wasn’t expecting it to--uh.” He cut himself off. 

Only when Yuuri covered his mouth with a hand did Viktor realize what was actually happening. He crouched down to look up into Yuuri’s face. “Are you…?” 

“I’m not!” Yuuri said, still softer than he usually would be, but turned away so Viktor couldn’t see him.

“Oh, Yuuri, it’s all right! I cried the first time I saw this movie, too.” He really,  _ really _ wanted to fall on Yuuri and pull his head to his chest, but had no idea if it would help or not. His hand hovered over Yuuri’s shoulder as he debated furiously between patting him on the back or just leaving him be. 

“When you were eight, maybe!” Yuuri’s voice was climbing higher and higher. “Not twenty-three!” He finally cracked and covered his face with both his hands. Viktor decided that a back-pat would probably be okay, since Yuuri was unlikely to notice it anyways.

“Can you just hand me a tissue?” Viktor did so, keeping one hand free to continue awkwardly patting Yuuri between his shoulder blades. Once he’d deemed himself presentable, he started speaking in a high, shaky voice.

“So, why do we always rest on Saturdays? Wouldn’t it be better to rest on different days of different weeks?” Viktor realized he was either trying to distract himself from the movie or Viktor from the fact that he had been crying. He was still blowing his nose, so it wasn’t very effective, but if that’s what Yuuri needed, Viktor would do it.

“Well, I guess it helps establish a tight schedule,” Viktor started. Yuuri was looking at him with drier eyes, and he somehow got the feeling that the man  _ knew _ there was more to it. “But it’s more because that’s what Yakov did. He didn’t do any work on Saturdays, except during competitions of course, so he had that be our day of rest. I suppose I just got in the habit.”

“Oh.” It was a very subdued statement, yet Viktor could tell that Yuuri was seriously considering this new information. 

“I never did anything like this with Yakov, though.” That pulled a long, slightly watery laugh from Yuuri. 

“I can’t even imagine him watching movies.”

“Actually, he loves movies. But only the old Soviet ones about women who work in factories and are looking for love, and so on. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen all of them.”

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed. “I never would have guessed.” 

He seemed to have calmed down; in fact, this might have been the calmest Viktor had ever seen him. After he’d wiped his eyes and put his glasses back on he simply looked at Viktor expectantly. 

Since Viktor didn’t have anything else to say, Yuuri began responding to all the texts he’d missed during the movie. He was smiling at his phone the whole time and would occasionally laugh softly, all without glancing up at Viktor once. Viktor could see that Yuuri was slowly sliding sideways along the headboard, being turned off at an odd angle. He tilted his own body so that Yuuri ended up leaning against him with one arm. Again, if he noticed that they were touching, he did not move away.

Viktor had never considered being ignored to be such an achievement.

* * *

“That was passable,” Viktor remarked at the end of the latest of many run-throughs of Yuuri’s eros program. He noticed, with no little pride, that Yuuri didn’t complain; he just set his jaw and nodded before skating back to the starting position. 

“Wait, come here before you start again.” He waved a water bottle in the air so Yuuri would have a reason to move closer.

Viktor leaned over the edge of the rink to hand Yuuri the bottle and rested his forearms on the barrier while Yuuri drank. 

“You need to stop thinking about the jumps so much.”

Yuuri swallowed and exhaled sharply. He was leaning back against the barrier, back straight, so that Viktor from his slightly hunched position was looking up at him. 

“Shouldn’t I be thinking about the jumps to get them right? They’re my biggest problem.”

“Exactly! You know that they’re your biggest problem, and it  _ shows. _ I can always tell when there’s a jump coming up; you tense up and I can see that you’re thinking about it instead of the music.”

Yuuri pulled his lower lip between his teeth and hummed quietly. Viktor had such a strong urge to link his arm through Yuuri’s that he didn’t realize he was acting upon it until he saw Yuuri turn his head to look at him. He felt Yuuri shift so that their shoulders lined up.

“The jumps are important, of course. But they’re not the  _ only _ important thing.” Viktor looked out across the ice as he spoke, using his free hand to gesture as he did so. “You can’t ignore all the little stuff in the middle that comes between the jumps. If all they wanted to see was jumps, your program wouldn’t last thirty seconds; it’s all about how the grand moments fit in with the music of the program as a whole. Every little moment means something.”

“Every moment counts,” Yuuri repeated quietly to himself. His head was tilted down towards Viktor but his eyes were looking past him; Viktor waited for him to refocus. He had come to learn that Yuuri often took a few moments to absorb his advice. Not because he was slow, as he had thought at the beginning, but because he wanted to translate it into something he could use physically while he skated. The slight crease between his eyebrows was only an adorable bonus.

Viktor could feel some of the tension leave Yuuri’s shoulders as he straightened up to return to the rink. “Thank you,” he said, and pulled his arm free of Viktor’s to skate away.

VIktor could feel something different in the way Yuuri tossed his head towards him at the beginning of the routine, like Yuuri was trying to tell Viktor something using Viktor’s own words. All he did was skate, though, and while Viktor considered himself fluent, he could tell there was a nuance today that he couldn’t translate.

* * *

“Viktor, you’ve asked me this already.”

“Yes, but you never give me a proper answer.”

“I already told you I’ve never had a girlfriend.” They were in the kitchen again, Yuuri kneeling and Viktor sitting cross-legged once he’d realized that kneeling for too long made his legs fall asleep. He wondered how Yuuri did it.

“Even in the skating world? Figure skaters love making drama with each other.”

“Even in the skating world.” Viktor gripped his own bicep and tried to keep smiling. He felt like he was going backwards, having to start all over from testing the water to see if Yuuri was even interested in men in general. The banquet hadn’t left things this ambiguous.

“I mean, any relationships _at all_?” he asked, hoping that was as vague enough while still implying what he wanted it to imply. 

“What about you?” that gave Viktor pause. He hadn’t expected retaliation. “Have you had any torrid relationships that I’d like to know about?”

“I already told you about my first girlfriend.”

"And all of them after that, yes." Yuuri laughed. "But  _ any relationships at all?  _ Those can't be it. ” Viktor had to fight to suppress a grin. Yuuri knew exactly what he was doing, and Viktor hoped he could take that (along with the banquet) as confirmation.

“Actually, there was another that I forgot about.”

Yuuri was smiling. “I’m sure.”

“You’ve heard of Christophe Giacometti, right?”

* * *

“Vicchan!” Yuuri’s mother let herself into Viktor’s room even earlier than he himself usually woke up. “I have a job for you today!”

He was awake immediately. Although he enjoyed his training schedule with Yuuri, a little variety was always fun. Plus, he always jumped at a chance to help out the Katsukis; they wouldn’t accept payment for the room or food, so the only way he had to pay them back was through the favors they asked of him.

He was still working on the biggest one, accompanied by a hand on his arm and a whisper as Yuuri retired to his room the first day he’d arrived.  _ Be good to our son. Help him be happy. _

“What do you need?” Hiroko (she’d asked Viktor to call her by her given name two weeks into his stay. He’d been delighted) put her hands to her cheeks and grinned.

“Oh, you’re so helpful! It’s not much. Can you and Yuuri keep Mari-chan out of the house today? It’s her birthday and her father and I are planning her a surprise party. We can’t set up if she’s here!”

Viktor was about to leap out of bed before he remembered that he’d slept shirtless, “Of course! We would be happy to spend a day with the birthday girl.”

“Excellent, excellent.” She took the empty mug from his nightstand and headed back out towards the kitchen, then doubled back and peeked her head into his room. “It will give you and Yuuri some time away from the rink. Please make the most of it.” With that, she left. 

Viktor changed as fast as he could and rushed down the hall to Yuuri’s room. He didn’t wake up when his door opened, so Viktor was treated to the sight of his peaceful sleeping face. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” he all but shouted, pulling the covers off.

Yuuri inhaled deeply and groped around for the covers. “Viktor?” He squinted at his watch. “It’s not even six. Why are you up?”

“We have a special mission from your mother!” Yuuri squinted at him, still without his glasses, and then looked back down at his watch. 

“Oh, it’s Mari’s birthday, isn’t it.”

“Yes, and your mother wants--”

“She wants us to get her out of the house, right? So they can plan her surprise party?” Viktor deflated a bit. This party was getting less and less surprising by the minute.

Yuuri’s hair was sticking up on one side of his head, and it stuck up even more when he scratched the back of his head. “She does this for us every year. It’s not really a surprise anymore. Mari probably already knows, so we can just leave her be. Can I have my blanket back?”

Viktor clutched it closer to his chest. “Nonsense! I made a promise to your mother, and I intend to keep it.”

“While you remember it, you mean?” Viktor threw the blanket at Yuuri, who caught it with a squeak. He  _ did _ swing his legs over the side of the bed, though, so maybe his words had worked.

“I guess spending the day with Mari wouldn’t be too bad,” Yuuri mused. Then he just stood there, in the middle of his room, looking at Viktor.

“What?”

“Could you, um. I mean--I need to change.” He wasn’t looking at Viktor anymore, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously instead. 

“I wouldn’t mind watching,” Viktor said. Yuuri immediately tensed up and his face reddened. 

“Just go, alright?” Viktor felt a chill at the back of his neck and nodded, ducking out of the room before Yuuri could say anything else. His voice lacked the teasing tone it did when he reassured Viktor that yes, 8k likes on an Instagram photo is still a lot, even if it’s not double digits. He’d sounded...afraid. Uncomfortable.

Viktor shut the door to his own room and thumped his forehead against it a few times before changing himself. 

* * *

“Did you two have a fight or something?” Mari asked after they’d been walking for a few minutes. Viktor had been far more subdued in greeting Yuuri that morning, and Yuuri had responded in kind. They hadn’t said anything after that.

“Why do you ask?” Viktor said. He was walking next to Mari and Yuuri was a few steps behind them. Odd that he deferred even the company of his own sister to Viktor.

“You guys are usually…” she sucked on her tongue and made a vague gesture with one hand. She looked over her shoulder and said something to Yuuri in Japanese. He stiffened up and his voice was high and rushed when he responded. She shrugged and turned back to Viktor.

“You usually talk a lot more. Much more friendly,” was what she said, but Viktor was almost positive that that wasn’t what she wanted to say initially. Yuuri seemed satisfied with it when Viktor glanced back at him, though, so he supposed it was all right.

Mari didn’t seem very interested in making much conversation, as she’d already called out both of them for the party. When she saw how Viktor’s face fell, she’d promised to act surprised when the time came.

“Maybe we just ran out of things to say,” Viktor said, not wanting to admit that Yuuri was shying away from him for a failed flirting attempt. Mari shrugged, seeming to accept the answer. They wandered around town for a while, but they were all up so early that nothing was open. 

“I can’t even do the shopping like this,” Mari said after twenty minutes. “I’m going to go home and take a nap in your room, Yuuri. I can go in through your window and come back before Mom knows I’ve come back. I’ll see you two later.” And without further warning, she turned and left them alone.

Yuuri checked his phone a few times as they walked. Viktor could see that the homescreen was blank of notifications, yet Yuuri would tap around the screen for a minute or so before stuffing it back in his pocket. 

“Do you want to get breakfast somewhere?”

“Sure,” Viktor said. He followed Yuuri to a small cafe and they sat down. He didn’t take out his phone, but he wasn’t looking at Viktor either. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor started, licking his lips and forcing himself to look him in the eye. Eye contact was one thing that Yuuri always, always beat him at; even when he twisted his fingers together or pulled on his sweatshirt sleeve till it frayed, he wouldn’t break from Viktor’s gaze until Viktor did. “About this morning, I’m really--I’m very sorry that I made you uncomfortable.”

Yuuri nodded, and Viktor saw his shoulders drop a little. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean it.”

While glad Yuuri was relaxing, Viktor wouldn’t let himself be misinterpreted. “I did mean it, though. Maybe not literally, but making you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean that.”

Yuuri nodded again. “I know.” He wasn’t saying anything else. Over their past few months together, Viktor had begun to categorize Yuuri’s silences: ones where he was processing information; ones where he wanted to say something but his mouth wouldn’t let him; ones where he didn’t need to, because everything had already been said. Ones where he was waiting for something.

Viktor laid a hand on the table, palm up. Yuuri looked down at it, then back up at him.

“What I was trying to do--what I have been trying to do--is indicate my interest in you. As a skater, and as a person.” Why was this the hardest to say? He’d said much more, been much more forward, yet this small thing was choking him up. “I like you.” His mouth was incredibly dry. “I have since--well, for a while.”

Yuuri didn’t move for a moment. Viktor could feel a cold sweat start to break out over the back of his neck. Then, Yuuri smiled; his lips pulled back and his teeth showed and his eyes crinkled up at the corners and he was smiling the biggest Viktor had ever seen.

He laid his hand on top of Viktor’s.

“That’s all you needed to say.”

* * *

They’d stopped mid-run at the top of a hill so Yuuri could catch his breath. It was September, now, but Viktor would still yell at Yuuri to go faster as he biked alongside him.  When Viktor slowed down enough, he could see Yuuri huff out a little laugh before saying “yes, coach” and speeding up.

_ Meet me halfway, _ Yuuri had said.  _ I, um, I don’t know how to say this right. I like  _ you. _ When you’re not acting like a model coach or a skating superstar or a, um, a playboy. I like Viktor. _

The morning was cold enough that the air caught their breath and held it, suspended and pale, before releasing it into the sky to disappear. Every so often Yuuri would purse his lips and exhale, slowly and softly, to watch the tendrils of white mist drift away from his face and dissolve.

_ Meet me halfway. _

“Yuuri?”

“Hmm?” The rising sun swept up over the water and through the trees, so that patches of gold and orange shifted over the ground and over their faces. In this light, Viktor couldn’t quite get a hold of Yuuri’s face.

“Can I kiss you?”

Yuuri may have gasped a little or his eyes may have widened; the light wasn’t strong enough to tell. He didn’t tense up, or back away, or even move his hands from where they were resting at his sides.

He moved closer to Viktor. If they both reached out their arms Viktor could just touch Yuuri’s hand.

“Why?”

Now Viktor was the one react, to tense up in surprise. “Why am I asking if I can kiss you?”

Yuuri nodded and took a step closer. He was biting gently at his lower lip and his ears were red, but whether it was from embarrassment or the morning chill Viktor couldn’t tell. Now he could have reached Yuuri’s shoulder if he stretched out his arm, but he didn’t.

“Well, why does anyone ask that? Because I want to.”

“That’s it?” Yuuri’s hands were hovering around waist height; not extended, but not comfortably loose at his sides. He was waiting for something.

“Well,” Viktor took a step forward. “I was also thinking…” he scooped Yuuri’s hands up with his own “...that I’d meet you halfway.”

Yuuri turned their palms inward so that their fingers laced together and tilted his chin up. “That sounds perfect,” he said against Viktor’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> a few notes:  
> 1) the movie they watched in my mind is the barber of siberia, which is a weird little mix between slapstick comedy and romantic drama. i haven't seen it in years so any details in this fic are from my very hazy memory  
> 2) this fic is quite heavily inspired by "from june to september" by bigspoonnoya, one of my absolute favorite viktuuri fics. please go read it if you haven't already! http://archiveofourown.org/works/8850418  
> 3) mari was gonna say "you're all over each other"


End file.
